


Wrecks (Human and Otherwise)

by Sword_Kallya



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Hysteria, Other tags to be added, Panic, That's just the first chapter though, The No Orthax AU, The de Rolos are still alive, Why Is Percy Such a Disaster, Written from the perspective of someone in a panic attack, probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 14:38:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10766280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sword_Kallya/pseuds/Sword_Kallya
Summary: Percy wakes up at dawn, salt-stained, ragged, panicking, and unsure of where he is or why he woke up at all.(Pike tries to keep the madman she fished out of the sea in one piece. He's not making it easy on her.)





	Wrecks (Human and Otherwise)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NevillesGran](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NevillesGran/gifts).



> Surprise gift for NevillesGran, who puts up with me randomly spamming her inbox on tumblr with anonymously dropped AUs. This is one of the ones I sent her: the Briarwoods never take Whitestone, but Percy gets himself kidnapped by bandits on a diplomatic trip and separated from his family.  
> (And yes, there will be Ripley.)

Percival woke up.

He hadn’t expected to do that, he thinks muzzily. He has a distant recollection of height and water, of salt and wood and searing pain –

His eyes opened to a feminine face scrutinizing him and he jerked to the side _no oh gods no Pelor please I won’t go back to her I won’t –_

“Easy! Easy, you’re safe here!” Calm, soothing words, hands touching him, putting him back into place, trying to still his thrashing she had him she _had_ him –

“Oi! Everything alright in there?”

“I – uhn, fuck! Can one of the others get in here? He’s panicking!”

Soon there were more hands on him, keeping him down, holding his head still as something was poured down his throat –

He didn’t think again for a long time after that.

* * *

 

Percival woke up again. A voice in the back of his head whispered, _I think I see a pattern forming here_ , and started laughing. Percival started laughing too, but the sound got caught somewhere between his lungs and his mouth and he started coughing instead. His breath came in enormous gasps that threatened to crack his desert-dry throat, his eyes watered, and between the two he managed… well, something like laughter anyway. He managed to gather enough presence of mind to be grateful for the small hands pounding on his back.

“Are you all right?” asked a voice – probably whoever was behind him, now that he thought about it. They sounded concerned.

“Hysteria,” he answered, almost cheerful. “Exaggerated or uncontrollable emotion… mother’d kill me for trying to self-diagnose again… I can’t remember the rest…” Vaguely, Percival realized that he was still laughing.

“I know,” the voice replied. He subsided into chuckles mixed with wheezes, which seemed to reassure them. “Do you need anything? Water, food? A head?”

“I need… I need…” That sobered him up a bit more. Percival racked his brains. He _knew_ there was something, something he had to have, to do –

“Away!” he shouted abruptly (so much so that a muttered curse emanated from behind him, though he didn’t consciously realize it). “I need to get away – I need to be away from – from…”

“Okay. Okay.” Percival started coughing again, chest heaving like a bellows under a mad blacksmith. Those same tiny hands steadied him as he tried to shoot upright.

“Nice hands,” he commented absently. That drew a soft chuckle from his mysterious helper as he was laid back down on the… bed? It felt oddly soft, but not as soft as a proper mattress. He thought so, at least for as long as he could hold on to the idea.

“Let’s try this. Are you thirsty?” the voice said. Its owner was probably aiming for calm, but was missing by a fair amount. He nodded his head, but that started the odd little brown room spinning. A cup was pressed to his lips, gently, and he drank greedily.

“Careful! You’ll make yourself sick!” The cup was removed, leaving Percival sucking on air for a moment before he swallowed. The drink wasn’t water; his tongue caught notes of lavender and honey, and it eased the cough in his throat. His helper returned the cup and let him have a bit more. When he came up for air, he remembered to ask, “Who are you?”

“I’m Pike Trickfoot, healer on the _Broken Howl._ And you?”

Pike had lovely white hair. “I’m Per – _hgckk –_ Perci –” He subsided into coughing again, and Pike gave the cup back.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Percy. Are you hungry?”

Percival grumbled at the nickname, but shook his head at the question.

“Okay, you probably couldn’t manage food very well right now anyway. Do you need to use the head? The necessary,” She clarified at his quizzical look.

“Mm-mm,” He hummed around the cup. When she took it away again, he asked, “Can I see the sun?”

“The sun? Are you sure? You really shouldn’t be moving, and there’s not much sun to see right now.”

_“Please.”_ He had to know. He had to know if he was really _away._

“All right,” Pike conceded grudgingly. She disentangled him from the blankets and helped him stand up. He hadn’t realized she was so _small._ Cassandra probably had a few inches on her.

Pike unlatched something on the wall, and a wave of salt air hit him in the face. The sun was just cresting the horizon, barely visible through the porthole, but it threw a brilliant orange track across the open sea.

He was away.

Percival Frederickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III braced himself against the wall of the tiny healer’s cabin where he could still see the sunrise, and started to cry.


End file.
